Gravity GO!
by Kawaii Amethist
Summary: Adapted from the comic Gravity, these tales follow the absurd lives of the Gravitation cast and their offspring 17 years later from the anime.


Gravity GO

**Time Waits for No Turtle**

"Tragedy has struck this Christmas night; vocalist for band Nittle Grasper, Ryuichi Sakuma and his wife, seiyuu, Hanako Morita, were involved in a limousine accident, crashing into Carrot Tower, Setagaya and have been pronounced dead. Reporter Sion Minase is at the scene."

Sion's lips chattered, lips burnt bright from the harsh cold of the night air. "Yamano-san, the crash has been estimated to have occurred around 7:30pm. The couple was most likely on their way to Tohma Seguchi's, president of NG Studios, and fellow member of Nittle Grasper, for his annual Christmas party. The cause of the accident has not been determined. The driver was killed on impact."

Sion stepped to the side, indicating for the camera to capture the ambulance and police working behind her. A long bag was feverishly being wheeled away by paramedics. "The authorities were quick to the scene; however, the couple was already dead. I am told they were leaning over their six month old daughter, Ryuko, perhaps in order to shield her from the impact."

With a light sneeze, the reporter moved in as close as she could, ebbing up against the police tape. The camera caught sight of a female police officer carrying something small moving in a blanket.

"Officer! Officer!" called out Sion, "Might Q60 News have a word? Is that the Sakuma baby?"

The policewoman turned away from the camera. "Please, Japan would like proof the baby is unharmed!"

An older male officer nodded to the woman, and at that, she made her way to the tape, indeed holding a wide eyed baby with a Santa hat over its crown. "I am Police Sergeant Reina Kousaka, and yes, this is Ryuko Sakuma."

Sion bowed in appreciation. "Thank-you very much for speaking with us. Can you confirm whether Sakuma-san and Morita-san died on impact, like the driver?"

"Nothing definite can be said till the autopsy; however, that is the estimated scenario."

"What arrangements have been made for the child?"

"We will be arranging for the child to be placed with a relative for the time being, and custody will be determined by the legal will of the parents. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

Sion bowed again. "Thank-you Sergeant Kousaka. Before you go, may we have one last shot of the Sakuma baby?" 

She agreed. The camera panned down to the interested, flushed infant, who forced an arm out of the loose blanket she was bound in, steadily raising tiny fingers toward the lens. Her wide green eyes stared in mystified awe. 

"Two amazing people and entertainers were taken from the world this Christmas night; however the life of their child will continue on. One can only wonder what will become of the Sakuma child." 

* * *

Candy coloured lights scanned a sea of screaming people dispersed throughout a spacious darkened hall. The annual Karaoke Grand Finale event had attracted record crowds that night in metropolitan Tokyo.

Weaving in and out of the sea of bodies, a slender man, his face concealed by dark shades, and dressed in a heavy brown leather jacket, had his eyes set on the stage. The stage area was so dark it lacked a hint of a silhouette, meaning it would be Showtime at any minute. The deeper he went, the closer bunches of screaming spectators were huddled, forming a tight wall. Being clear he wasn't going to get any closer, he stood contented, reaching for the mobile phone in the right side pocket of his jacket. Moments later, he produced the phone, clicked the side and raised it above the heads of the crowd, praying the camera function was capturing the stage and not the back of some guy's head.

"Get ready folks," began the PA, "I know you've been waiting patiently, but now it's time to welcome to the stage our own Tokyo chameleon canary, Ryuko!"

The crowd roared, chanting for Tokyo's karaoke finalist to come out. The slender man at the heart of the crowd winced, trying desperately to cling to the phone.

"But don't call her Ryuko, folks, oh no, tonight she is Shuichi Shindo of Bad Luck, coming to you with a blast from the past – Rage Beat!"

"RYUKO! SAKUMA-SAMA! RYU-CHAN!" chanted the crowd, jumping around as the music launched through the side speakers. Just as a flash of yellow and orange leather burst onto the stage, the slender man's hand was bumped, sending the phone crashing to the ground. 

Cursing to himself, he instinctually dropped to his knees, and began to search the crevices of spare floor space not taken up by swarms of shoes for his camera, annoyed to be missing the show above. The shaded man negotiated through erratic trunks of legs, his head bumped here and there. 

After what felt like hours of scouring, his left hand came upon a rectangular lump. He let out a yell of excitement, gripping the phone. Just as he was went to return to the surface, a heavy boot crashed down on his hand, sending a shiver of intense pain throughout his body. Resisting the urge to drop the device, he quickly hopped to his feet, letting out a pained scream, rubbing his swollen fingers. 

"Wasn't she awesome?" He heard a squeaky male voice say. Did he just use that in the past tense? While he had been scouring the floor for his phone, the show had ended without his capturing anything.

"No way!" The man wept into his still throbbing hand.

"Did you see her, man? She looked just like that Shindo guy!" He heard another say, though he couldn't tell from where, "Do you think she makes all those costumes herself?"

"I saw her two months ago, she was Sumomo and she was way hot, dude!"

"How does she come up with all those voices?"

"We didn't see no cleavage this time, what the hell was that?!"

"Wanna grab a burger after this?"

"Hah, I was at a Bad Luck concert five years ago and Shindo always got the lyrics wrong! If you ask me, her performance wasn't _that_ accurate! Hahahahaha!"

The man pulled a sour face at that last comment, Shuichi Shindo wasn't forgetful, he was an artist and his art was evolutionary, or something. With a click of the mobile phone, it was placed back in the jacket, with the knowledge that he'd have to wait for the DVD, or hope someone else had been more successful and uploaded video to the Internet. It was a shame he'd missed her in the early Shuichi costume, he was certain she did it proud.

* * *

Light penetrated the dim room, guided by the gentle breeze of the bedroom curtain. The beam of light waded over shadowed objects, occasionally revealing the bright white of a shelf, and the strips of worn book spines. Eventually it came to rest over a cheek, then a nose, then an eyelid. The light swayed over the eyelid for a time, as if to play with it. Its owner stirred, becoming aware of the light's heat. She rolled over, opening one eye, catching faint sight of the clock held by a cartoonish plastic yellow rabbit that stood on her dresser. It read: "12:30. Huh?"

Two emerald green eyes widened intensely and with that, the girl shot up in a panic. '"HOLY CRAP I SLEPT IN!!"

The girl leapt to her feet, stumbling unsteadily to the nearest window. She ripped open the curtains, and found herself engulfed in a battle with the midday sun. The room was now bathed in light, showing off an array of glossy posters and shelves of books. 

Her name was Ryuko Sakuma, and she should have been awake at least eight o'clock. Instead she was severely late and severely agitated by her predicament. "How could this happen?" Ryuko cried anxiously pulling at her messy chestnut brown hair. A pink plush bunny sat on her head, watching her intently. There was no time to dwell on the matter, she had to get ready. "No, I must concentrate and get down to business, damn it!"

At speed that would make The Flash contemplate a change in career, Ryuko took a shower and shoved the first pieces of ironed clothing over her body – beige cargo pants, a plain green top and a pale pink hooded sweater.

Ryuko found her backpack under a pile of notes beside her bedroom table, and with unexpected delicacy, picked up a brown paper bag that contained two books, and carefully lowered it into the mid compartment of the bag. She followed this by picking up the pink bunny, whose name was Kumagorou, and sitting him upright in the compartment closest to where it would meet her back.

Before leaving the room, Ryuko turned to gaze at the poster above her bed. A dreamlike smile spread her lips. It was a Bad Luck poster, Bad Luck being her favourite band and she was destined to meet them that day, along with Eiri Yuki, her favourite author. Her adoration for Eiri Yuki and Bad Luck's vocalist, Shuichi Shindo, was an intense love that verged on the extreme; Ryuko knew their blood types, favourite snacks, pet peeves, shampoos and whether they wore boxes or briefs. Whenever they made a public appearance, she felt obligated, as their number one fan, to follow in tow. Some would call this stalking, though she would prefer being noted as a dedicated fan. 

Much to her chagrin, Eiri Yuki had announced his intent to hold a book signing on the same day as Bad Luck were to hold a small concert and a signing of their new CD and DVD recording of their recent comeback concert. Ryuko turned away from the poster, her smile changing to a frown. "It's gotta be a conspiracy against me," the sixteen year old grunted in morose anger, "this is so slack!" 

With that display of childlike fury, Ryuko sped into the world, leaving her apartment behind her. 

* * *

"I think I can! I think I can! I THINK I CAN!" She puffed and panted to herself, racing through bustling Tokyo streets, pushing through crowds of innocent pedestrians; zipping through once serene parks; climbing over walls that stood in her way; ignoring concrete stairs in favour of leaping from bridges; and eventually finding the bookshop that Eiri Yuki was holding his book signing. 

With a sigh of relief, she opened her bag and held out her brown bag. It was time to meet the godlike author, Eiri Yuki. Ryuko grinned to Kumagorou, who clung to her shoulder. "We've made it!"

Her mood high, she giddily skipped toward the bookshop, only to bump into another person. Ryuko looked to the side, her vision of the shop blurred by the distance it took to see it. The line to meet the author was phenomenal! Her heart raced fiercely, it would be so long before she could get her books signed and by then the Bad Luck appearance could be over. Unable to cope with the mix of the realization and swears bubbling through her mind, the chestnut haired girl let out a carnal cry. 

* * *

A faint scream could be heard from the end of the line. Eiri Yuki titled his head up in acknowledgement, but shrugged it off, handing a newly autographed piece of note paper to the blonde young woman who stood beside him, leaning on his back. The woman giggled, and boldly decided to kiss the author's cheek in gratitude, eying the disgruntled fans that stood before her. The woman's name was Saki Ukai, a twenty-three year old history student. She left the author, who was unmoved by the display, to track down the source of the noise. It did sound familiar.

Saki stroked her permed yellow curls, replying to the ugly stares of those waiting in line with a sweet, knowing grin. It wasn't Saki's fault that her mother knew the author and that with his listlessly cool disposition, Eiri allowed her to cut in front of the line and get a random piece of note paper signed, note paper she casually crumpled and tossed into the nearest bin. A group of his fans watched in horror, one having to be held back by his friend as he tried to go at her.

Saki dismissed the glare, and came to rest at the source of the cry she'd heard earlier. It was Ryuko Sakuma all right, the orphan of Ryuichi Sakuma the vocalist in her mother's old band, Nittle Grasper. 

Saki gleefully jumped the girl, embracing her fully, "My love bunny baby!" Ryuko struggled against the older girl's grip, eventually pushing her away. Ryuko gasped for air, embarrassed by her display, and swearing she had been groped. "You weirdo, I told you before that I'm not into women!"

"Oh Ryu-chan, you're so adorable!" Saki giggled, containing her excitement with a beaming smile, "Now, when you discover your lesbian-side, you be sure to give Saki-chan a call!"

The idea was unpleasant, and made the younger girl cringe. She wasn't sure whether it was the idea she had a 'lesbian-side' or that the volume of Saki's vocal cords had caught the attention of the people in front of her that concerned her most. Ryuko hugged Kumagorou, slowly shaking her head to the looks of suddenly modest girls in short skirts. She then returned her attention to her whimsical friend, "There's as much chance of me finding my lesbian-side, as there is you discovering a sober personality that doesn't impinge on the good people of society." Ryuko turned away, retreating to a determined state as she waited for her turn.

Saki silently smiled politely to that. As she was about to leave, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hey, Saki, what _are_ you doing here anyway?"

"Oh, I wanted to say hi to my fave romance novelist and score an autograph."

That struck the sixteen year old as an odd thing to do. "But you know him personally; why would you want an autograph …?"

Saki flipped her hair, reveling in the memory of the fury of Eiri Yuki's fan-base. "To piss off his adoring public, obviously!" Ryuko sighed, her friend had always had a twisted sense of humour, but insulting her brethren really was overstepping it. "I guess you'll be off to see Bad Luck after this."

Ryuko furrowed her brow, reminded of the awesome concert she was missing. It had been years since their last shopping centre or concert hall gig. Her older friend lowered her smile, noticing the pain the words had caused and decided to change the topic at hand. "I know you'll be busy and all, but MW wanted me to tell you we're booked at four today. Not sure where, he wouldn't tell, said he'd find us or something. Isn't that interesting?"

MW stood for Michael Winchester, the young American born manager of hobby band Snowflake who had recently been fired from his position as a police officer stationed in Japan, and who had decided, based on recent events, that Ryuko and her friends were in a band and therefore required management. It was easier to go along with it, especially since he and his parents had a penchant for convincing others with shiny guns. Michael had so far been unsuccessful in securing a gig, lacking the skills it took to be a manager. Not that Ryuko minded. Considering how booked up her day already was, she wasn't in the mood to indulge Michael's fantasies. "That damn S.O.B!"

"OK, maybe you don't find it interesting," Saki decided. "Well off for a few drinks till then. You say hi to Bad Luck for me, you little cutie!"

As Saki finally left, Ryuko sulkily nibbled one of her bunny's soft ears. "Like I said Kumagorou, it's all just a sick plot against me." The line was still so long. "What is Michael Winchester thinking?"

* * *

Since ten o'clock that morning Eiri Yuki had been parked outside of the bookshop of his publisher's choosing. Had it been up to him he would have chosen somewhere a little more sophisticated instead of some hip new coffee and bookshop. Is this what the great Eiri Yuki had been reduced to, a novelty item to check out while yuppies waited for their double mocha and oversized chocolate chip cookie? While he was at it, he would have preferred somewhere indoors; the sun had a tendency to catch his glasses.

"Oh Sensei," a middle-aged woman with unusually perky breasts breathlessly exclaimed as Eiri signed her soft cover edition of Crystal, "I've bought all your works since high school! This is a dream come true!"

"Thank-you for your support."

"Your stories kept my mother and I talking through some seriously rough patches," tears were starting to well in her eyes, boy she was talkative. "And now I share them with my daughter. Oh, the discussions we have!"

"I'm glad my stories have touched you," Eiri handed her back the book with a kind smile.

The woman drew back, clutching her palms in dramatic fashion; Eiri sighed, craving some nicotine, he disliked this sort of fan. "And my grandmother's book club reviews an Eiri Yuki novel at least twice a month! Your stories inspire such hope and celebrate the beauty of life like no other writer! You are truly a god among men!"

Eiri cocked an eyebrow. Granted, he was a god among men, but he'd hardly call his works 'celebrations of life'. "Ma'am, in my last novel, three people …died. Violently."

"Yes, the auburn haired protagonist was impaled with a rake!" She took her book, grinning bashfully like a fifteen year old. It had actually been some time since a fifteen year had grinned bashfully in his direction. There was hardly anyone over twenty in the lengthy line of adoring fans. What happened to those giggling underage girls who dreamed of a night of passion with Japan's coolest author? 

"They grew into that," he quietly sighed to himself, tapping his pen on the desk in disdain. 

"Next please," called the assistant by the desk. Eiri straightened his back and readied himself for his next fan. 

Raising his head, he was met with a towering shadow. It stood over him in triumph. The author stared nonplussed and finally asked, "How can I help you?"

The shadow zoomed in close to reveal itself to be a familiar girl in a turtle costume, a pink plush bunny rested on her head. The girl eagerly presented a hard and soft cover edition of his latest book. "Just like in the Hare and the Tortoise, slow and steady won the race!" Her cheeks were bright red and she was clearly drenched under her costume, whether from the sun or excitement was impossible to tell. "Oh, Sensei! Please sign your latest masterpiece for me!"

Eiri took one of her books, and obliged with his autograph. "I can only sign one right now. If you'd like the other signed, you'll need to go to the end of the line, Sakuma-san."

Horror struck the turtle clad girl like so much lightning to a conductor. Her mouth and eyes widened in horror, locked in a catatonic state, until the author placed the book on Ryuko's still outstretched flipper. He cleared his throat, smirking with his amber eyes. "By the way, you do realize that is a turtle costume. A tortoise has feet, not flippers."

Ryuko sunk into a heap by the side lines. "He's …so cruel!"

* * *

Down by the bay, away from the busy chatter of eager fans and rhythmic steps of big city hustle and bustle, a lone boy sat cross-legged on the warm pavement by sea railings. His dirty white t-shirt was tattered with age, his shorts were torn at the edges from poor care and there was no telling how many owners the sandals on his dusty feet and the frayed straw hat atop his messy golden hair, had known. Sitting in front of the quiet boy was a chipped mug filled with various coins.

The boy smiled in peace, taking in the sound of the waves crashing against the artificial rocks and the various boats sailing in and out of the harbour. Seagulls plodded along the cement, searching out crumbs. Friends and lovers cooed to each other by the boardwalk. Best of all was the salty air blowing into his pale face. Though he was blind, the boy saw the world surrounding with clarity.

Hard footsteps hit the pavement in his direction. Ears perked to the beat, the boy raised his pale face as the steps drew closer. They stopped before him. There was a brief pause, followed by the familiar sound of rustling within a bag. "Here's some money, son. Get yourself a warm meal and some new clothes." 

Notes were placed in the mug. The boy widened an appreciative smile to the woman before him. "You are too kind."

The kind stranger left the boy to return to his peaceful state. The autumn sun beat down so strong that day; it was hard to believe winter was a few months away. Winter in Tokyo was never easy for a boy trying to raise money on the street - that didn't involve illegal activities.

As he contemplated this troubling notion, a faint rumbling caught his attention. It seemed to be getting gaining momentum with every ticking second. Was it a scooter? Just then, a gush of wind whooshed by with an inhuman fierce pace. Footsteps backpedaled to the boy and stood to perhaps consider his sad state. Though the boy smiled, all he felt was a glare in kind. 

"You should really be ashamed of yourself, you lowlife scoundrel!" Huffed the voice of an indigent young woman. "Here's a button." 

The boy held his smile. "You are too kind."

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! SO LATE!!" The girl left a trail of wind behind her. The boy opened one sky blue eye, his smile fading to a grimace. That breeze sure felt nice.

* * *

"BAD LUCK! BAD LUCK! BAD LUCK!" Roared the audience, as the male trio on stage ended their song. 

The lead vocalist, Shuichi Shindo, raised a fist in the air in victory. "You're a fantastic audience!" The crowd cheered. "Hiro, Suguru and I are so excited to see you all here! Thank-you for supporting us as we make our awesome come back!"

Moments later, Bad Luck was seated at a table by the stage, ready to return to meeting their fans and signing autographs. Shuichi gulped a cup of water, avoiding the accusing glares of keyboardist, Suguru Fujisaki, who sat beside Hiroshi Nakano. Shuichi couldn't believe he'd forgotten most of the chorus to Spicy Marmalade! Evidently, Fujisaki could, but was still unimpressed.

Their manager K, and producer Sakano stood by the curtains, watching the fans prodded like cattle by security as they formed a line like good little lambs. Bad Luck was on its way back to the big time from its three year hiatus. As usual, things always seemed to go haywire for the band and Shindo wasn't making the situation easier.

"Shindo-kun made a fool of himself up there!" gasped Sakano, wiping his sweaty brow. "It was a total disaster!"

Mr. K removed his shades, eying the frazzled producer who now clung to the stage curtains in desperation. "Bad Luck's big come back is going all wrong! Only half the live concert album CDs have been printed, half that number of DVDs has been shipped, today's costumes were misplaced, Shindo-kun was an hour late – and he made up lyrics for his performance! Shachou will fire me, I know it!"

The silver-haired manager knew it was pointless to try to comfort the producer; instead he regarded the mass of eager fans, still passionate about this iconic band. "Well the audience seemed to like it, Sakano. It's great to be back." 

The fan base was a comical mixed bag of long time mature age adults, who'd followed since adolescence, older teenagers, and young men and women. There were definitely a lot of young men and they all had their eyes and something else, set on the youthful vocalist. 

Shuichi loved meeting his fans, especially since he remembered the excitement he felt as a kid, seeing his first Nittle Grasper concert, collecting the smallest scraps of news articles on vocalist god Ryuichi Sakuma, and how enthusiastically his heart raced the first time they sang together on stage. 

A young man dressed in a silky black shirt, perhaps in his early twenties, strolled up to Shuichi, laying the Live CD before the vocalist for a signature. "So …you still with Eiri Yuki?"

Shuichi blushed, "Oh yes, we're still happily married. Thanks for asking!" 

Shuichi pulled his usual wide beam, holding out the CD. The man took hold of the CD and tugged Shuichi's ear close to his lips. "If the situation changes …don't be afraid to call." The pink haired vocalist went crimson with embarrassment. A piece of paper was left on the table. 

Fujisaki felt his nerves begin to shatter, though that wasn't a hard feet by anyone's measure. "Shindo, get a hold of your weird fan boys. What was that, the 36th today?!"

Hiro sighed, it sure was just like old times. "By my count, 41st. Shuichi, why on earth do you keep their numbers?"

"Well you see," Shuichi began, with a forced laugh, "Yuki collects them afterwards and then …and then he … I don't know exactly. But I never hear from them again!" He forced a haughty laugh, pausing to bleakly wonder if those fans were still in a healthy way.

* * *

"Damn these things are SLOW!" growled Ryuko Sakuma, battling her way past through stationed individuals on one of the shopping centre's many escalators. Bad Luck weren't too far away, but there was something that had to be taken care of first. 

Ryuko raced into the nearest music store, Musicaaa, they were bound to have a copy of Bad Luck Live. She feverishly scanned the new releases. Her eyes fell upon a lone copy of the CD. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, the chestnut haired girl reached out to take her prize – to only clutch a handful of air. 

A young man roughly her age now admired the treasured CD in his grasp. Ryuko stared, baffled. She shook it off and scowled deeply, holding up her pink plush bunny in rage, "Oy, Kumagorou and I saw that first!"

He turned to her, unmoved by her display, tapping the CD in his palm. "Yeah bitch, and what you gonna do 'bout it?"

Ryuko winced with every tap of the CD. She looked into his uncaring gray eyes, replying with a cool, clear stare. Her path was clear. "That's no way to talk to a lady." She smirked, swiftly raising her elbow and ramming it into her opponent's chest with full force, knocking the young man to the floor. As the CD flew into the air, Ryuko gleefully grabbed it, giving it a tight hug. "Oh, thank-you so much for this sweet gift!" All was right in the universe. "My lovely, ah. Kumagorou, we just need this signed …" 

The girl ignored the wails of the winded young man, her eyes transfixed on a vintage wall scroll of Ryuichi Sakuma and Shuichi Shindo hanging in the distance. "We need this signed by the ones who surpassed Nittle Grasper."

Across from the music store there was a French-style café, where a petite girl with bright green, shoulder-length hair was enjoying a slice of black forest cake, when a gust of air zipped right by her, causing her to bite down hard in shock.

"I'M COMING FOT YOU BAD LUCK!!"

The girl, whose name was Sara Fujisaki, stood up; she knew that shrill voice instantly. "Sakuma Senpai?"

* * *

"I see; thank-you Sara-chan," Michael Winchester hung up his mobile, baring his teeth in a giddy grin, "Got ya, Ryu-chan." He slid the phone within his jacket and returned to waiting for his band's guitarist to finish her shopping.

Himeka Nakano, a traditional Kyoto darling dressed in a traditional kimono-styled top, and less than traditional tight mini skirt, had been staring at two books in a suspiciously shadowed section at the far end of the store. He wondered why he was being forced to wait there. "Himeka, will you be much longer?"

"In a minute," the fourteen year old grumbled, returning to her contemplation. "Oh, I can't afford both tankoubon!" 

Ten minutes passed and she was still eyeing the same two books. "Himeka, we need to find the others."

"Yes, wait a sec," she almost commanded.

Another ten minutes passed. Michael, frustrated by the stares and whispers of the clerks implored one last time, "Look, we really need to go now! Make a decision!"

Himeka didn't reply, instead she coolly and slowly twisted her head to face his direction. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as if to contain herself. "Listen to me," she hissed, "THIS IS A LIFE ALTERING DECISION: HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES MISTER MANAGER!!"

The American clung to the nearest bookshelf, shaken by the young girl's fury. Baffled by the importance of Himeka's decision, he asked the adjacent clerk what section she was standing in.

"Oh, that's the boy love section," chirped the clerk, "I'll bet she's got one of those Adult Only books and needs you to approve the sale for her. 'Happens all the time!"

While the clerk found it amusing, Michael didn't; who knew where the vocalist had run off to while he waited for Himeka Nakano, the violinist had not returned his threatening text messages, the drummer had not made further contact since their conversation that morning, and who knew which bar the keyboardist was drowning herself in, every drink hole on earth was her 'usual spot'!

"Why oh why must the talent insist on being difficult?" Glumly sighed Michael, reaching for the semiautomatic pistol concealed within his jacket, "Time for some managerial persuasion."

Store clerks and patrons alike ducked for cover as a gleaning 9mm colt was revealed. The tall blonde man ignored the fuss, proceeding to leisurely walk to stand beside the undecided fourteen year old. Michael raised his pistol, pointing it at the crown of the girl's long black hair, pushing it into her skull when he received no response. 

Himeka froze, her eyes moving to side to meet her manager's. She forced a wiry grin, quickly putting one book back on the shelf. "I …er …suppose I can get the other one after we're paid for today's gig." She turned to the American, who now held a gun to her forehead. "It pays good, right, Mister Manager?!"

* * *

It was 1:30pm, according to Eiri's watch; a shame, he thought it'd be four by then. 'I can't believe how late it is. I'm getting too old for this,' he mourned internally. Choked by his final thought, he quickly corrected himself, "I'm too important to be in a place like this."

"You are?" laughed his editor, Kanna Mizuki, returning from an errand with a paper bag. "Our research showed this to be one of the most popular book shops in Tokyo for the 25-40 demographic."

"What are you implying?" barked Eiri, lighting a much needed cigarette. He caught glimpse of a group of elderly women waving and blushing in his direction. 

Mizuki handed the irritated author the brown bag. "It was tough, Sensei, but I found one!"

Eiri regarded the item with a pleased smile. "Thanks, I owe you one. Well, I'm off for my late lunch break; I'll be back in an hour."

"Off to get it signed?"

The author strolled by her, blowing a long stream of smoke. He looked back, smirking in haughty contemplation. "Yeah, that and collect the numbers of the bastards trying to solicit sex from my property."

Mizuki was too lost in amusement to notice the raggedy boy who had come to stand beside her, holding out a chipped, coin-filled mug. Though his long golden fringe concealed the features of his face, there was an air of familiarity about him. "Don't I …know you from somewhere?"

The boy sniffed, rubbing some dirt on his cheek. "Perhaps all vagrants look alike to women like you."

Stunned and mortified, the editor reached for her handbag. "I'll get my purse."

"You are too kind."

* * *

"Such cruelty, Kumagorou!" wailed the weary turtle-girl, "Once again we are stuck in a never-ending line! We'll never get back to Sensei!" Ryuko let out an unnatural flow of tears, the line was unimaginable by the time she'd arrived and she couldn't even view the band from where she stood. The pink bunny rested on her head, unfazed. 

If she had actually known the difference between a tortoise and a turtle, perhaps she would've been closer to the front of the line.

"Eiri Yuki's nearly forty ya know," the turtle-girl's ears perked up at the mention of her favourite author by the young man who waited in front, "I bet he can't get it up. Shu-chan needs a _real_ man. I'm gonna give him my number!"

Ryuko cocked her head, did he honestly believe he could compare to the most beautiful man on the planet? 

"Go for it man," urged another young man, his friend, who stood beside him, "that weakass novelist is nothing compared to you!"

Apparently he did think he stood a chance. Ryuko (and she was certain Kumagorou too) irately glared in their direction. She cleared her throat, "Pathetic moron. Do you actually think Shuichi Shindo would even consider a little shit like you?"

The two men turned to face the girl dressed in a turtle costume, perplexed and angered by her choice of wording. "Is that right?"

"He happens to be happily married and wouldn't touch your limp stub," she explained, matter of fact. 

The young man, who had the intention of scoring the affections of the idol singer, folded his arms, slightly leaning into the girl's face in the hopes of intimidation, "That's an interesting vocabulary you've got there kid, I didn't know they taught swears in _kindergarten_." 

A flipper drew up and slowly pushed the man's nose out of the unimpressed sixteen year old's face. "Oh, they teach us how to kick sexless asses too."

The young fool's more muscular friend bashed a fist to his palm. "That's it!"

* * *

A commotion was brewing at the end of the line. Fans in line and shoppers passing by turned to see where all the noise was coming from. K, who didn't appreciate attention being drawn away from the band, casually loaded his rifle and made his way toward the fuss. He was met with a blur of green and bright flashes of clothes, bounding around each other in a brawl. 

K knocked pointed the rifle, shooting the shell of a turtle, the pony tail of a muscular man, and catching the cheek of another man. The three brawlers crashed to the floor, allowing the unenthused Bad Luck manager to handcuff them. They were walked down the line in single file, holding back tears and trying to hide their embarrassed faces from onlookers. K presented them to Bad Luck. "Now, what do we have to say for ourselves? That was most rude!"

The band stared at the three, then at K, wondering what they were expected to do, besides having them kicked out of the shopping centre for disturbing the peace.

"This crazy girl attacked us for no reason!" Shuichi's fan male breathlessly exclaimed, clutching the table in front of the singer, "All I wanted was to meet my idol singer."

The bruised turtle-girl shoved him over with her shell. "Yeah, and give him your number, you damn pervert."

Hiroshi Nakano and Suguru Fujisaki folded their arms; that would've brought the number of offers to fifty-three.

"Trust me, don't bother," the turtle-girl declared, unzipping her costume, "you don't stand a chance."

The opposing fan rubbed his temples, as best he could being handcuffed. "Jesus, you act like you know the guy or something. What's it matter to you if I give him my number?"

With those words, the costume and handcuffs were ripped from the girl, revealing a sweat-drenched set of clothes underneath, and a down trodden chestnut coloured ponytail. "I am Ryuko Sakuma!"

The crowd gasped in awe. Her opponent drew back, it couldn't be …

"Aged sixteen, blood type B and in my first year of high school; acing Japanese and failing math – in other words, the daughter of Shuichi Shindo and Eiri Yuki!"

Shuichi tried desperately to ignore the accusing gaze of his band mates; he laughed off their accusations, making a peace sign his daughter's way. "Yep …that's my girl."

* * *

** SAMMY SAYS **

Hello fearless reader, I'm Samantha and this is the first time in a long time I've written a fan fic or done anything Gravity related. Gravity began as a thirteen chapter story back in 2003 and from there it continued as a comic. I am attempting an adaptation of the comic, this being the first track, however I have expanded and altered scenes to make it more interesting.

My 'thing' has always been to produce a cast of next generations, or an image of a possible future, as soon as I've finished an anime that has touched me in some profound way. Gravitation was no exception and the reason why there initially were more females than males (this trend soon changes, take heed) was because I liked the idea of a female equivalent to Bad Luck. As the original fan fic progressed, it was apparent the original characters did not resemble their Bad Luck counterparts, and this led to Snowflake, comprising five members (four females and one male), instead of three females.

I sincerely apologise to the many Ryuichi Sakuma fans for killing off his character (I love him too!); however, there was something profound in the idea of his leaving behind a child for Shuichi and Eiri to raise. The meeting of Hanako and Ryuichi would be later explained in a one-shot comic called 'Shiny, Shiny Love'. Her character was a composition of what Ryuichi had stated to be his ideal woman in his official bio and the first sound story and being deceased did not feature a great deal in the overall story.

My time working on the fan fic and comic was a fun and enjoyable experience. Of all the original characters I have imagined, the cast of Gravity have been the most formed and have stayed with me like no other. I look forward to re-imagining that world (and even continuing it) in this fan fic. Please look forward to future chapters.


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